ed to knock Ormond into
a cocked hat.

Lunch threatened to be formidable. To begin with, Laura, whose natural,
easy frankness had by this time all but been successfully educated out
of her, Laura was never shyer with strangers than at a meal, where
every word you said could be listened to by a tableful of people. Then,
too, her vis-a-vis was a small sharp child of five or six, called
Thumbby, or Thumbkin, who only removed her bead-like eyes from Laura's
face to be saucy to her father. And, what was worse, the Uncle turned
out to be a type that struck instant terror into Laura: a full-fledged
male tease.--He was, besides, very hairy of face, and preternaturally
solemn.

No sooner had he drawn in his chair to the table than he began. Lifting
his head and thrusting out his chin, he sniffed the air in all
directions with a moving nose--just as a cat does. Everyone looked at
him in surprise. Tilly, who sat next him, went pink.

"What is it, dear?" his wife at last inquired in a gentle voice; for it
was evident that he was not going to stop till asked why he did it.

"Mos' extraor'nary smell!" he replied. "Mother, d'you know, I could
take my appledavy some one has been using my scent."

"Nonsense, Tom."

"Silly pa!" said the little girl.

Ramming his knuckles into his eyes, he pretended to cry at his
daughter's rebuke; then bore down on Laura.

"D'you know, Miss Ra ... Ra ... Rambotham"--he made as if he could not
get her name out--"d'you know that I'm a great man for scent? Fact. I
take a bath in it every morning."

Laura smiled uncertainly, fixed always by the child.

"Fact, I assure you. Over the tummy, up to the chin.--Now, who's been
at it? For it's my opinion I shan't have enough left to shampoo my
eyebrows.--Bob, is it you?"

"Don't be an ass, pater."

"Cut me some bread, Bob, please," said Tilly hastily.

"Mos' extraor'nary thing!" persisted the Uncle. "Or--good Lord, mother,
can it be my monthly attack of D.T.'s beginning already? They're not
due, you know, till next week, Monday, five o'clock."

"Dear, DON'T be so silly. Besides it's my scent, not yours. And anyone
is welcome to it."

"Well, well, let's call in the cats!--By the way, Miss Ra ... Ra ...
Rambotham, are you aware that this son of mine is a professed
lady-killer?"

Laura and Bob went different shades of crimson.

"Why has she got so red?" the child asked her mother, in an audible
whisper.

"Oh, CHUCK it, pater!" murmured Bob in